


The Adventures of Mulder and Scully in England

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: NSFW chapter.





	1. Comfort Food

“There’s the pub, on the corner.”  
She looks at his stupid grin. “It’s called The Fox.”  
He takes her hand, pulling her along. “And they sell my favourite dish, Scully. An old English pudding made of suet and dried fruit.”  
“Sounds disgusting,” she says, treading over the sticky carpet and trying not the breathe in the beer-drenched air.  
“You eat it with custard and it dates back to the late 1800s. Two halves of Old Peculiar, please.” He waits for the barman to fill the half-pint mugs and then orders. “And two servings of Spotted Dick.”  
She spits out the warm ale. “Spotted Dick?”  
“Dick is thought to be a corruption of pudding - puddink - puddick. And spotted comes from the currants or raisin that can be seen in the dish.”  
Of course it is, she thinks. Of course. “You’re going to make me eat Spotted Dick?” She tries to keep her voice low but as he nods enthusiastically she can feel her reserve waning.   
The barman leans over to her. “Do you prefer something savoury, Madam? We have a comprehensive selection of fine English fare.”  
Mulder smiles, a white frothy moustache forming over his top lip. She bites back the urge to lick it away. “Can I make a suggestion, Scully?”  
She knows she shouldn’t let him, but he’s in his element. She sighs.  
“What about the Toad in the Hole?”


	2. When In Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW chapter.

Mulder takes the items out of the bag and lines them up on the bench like they’re Faberge eggs. She can’t see around him to work out what it is he’s bought but she knows enough about his ridiculous nostalgia trip to know that it’s either a collection of Toby Jugs depicting all the Doctor Whos, egg cups with photos of The Goodies or Morecambe and Wise or some weird and disgusting food stuffs involving animal parts in some kind of 18th century pastry or pickling vinegar. She gets out of the armchair and joins him in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his ever-expanding abs and squeezing.  
“Already in your jammies, Scully?”  
“Jammies, Mulder?”  
He turns and pulls her in. “Haven’t you been learning the language, Scully? These are jammies,” he says, pulling down the shorts and slipping his hand down the side of her underwear. “And these are knickers.” He kisses her and she sighs into his mouth. “And this is snogging or getting off with each other,” he says, pulling back for breath.  
She lets him rub, swipe, circle until she buries her face in his neck and struggles to speak. “And what’s this called?”  
He pushes two fingers inside and she bucks against the heel of his hand. He waits for her to shudder to a finish before whispering. “This is called fucking amazing in any language, Scully.”  
She’s cooking a ratatouille and as she stirs the thick simmering sauce, she can still hear Mulder schooling her on vegetable names.  
“That’s a courgette, Scully. And this is a red pepper. And this,” he said, squeezing the base of his prized vegetable, “is an aubergine.”  
She held up her own vegetable. “What’s this?”  
“It’s an onion,” he said, smirking.  
“Actually, it’s something that makes you cry.”  
He bent down and kissed her. “No, Scully, that’s only you.”  
As he showers, she makes a salad with iceberg, spinach and arugula or rocket as he insisted, cilantro or coriander as he corrected, heirloom tomatoes, cucumber, carrot and cress. It’s humid even though the temperature is only in the mid-twenties. Their cottage is high on a bluff overlooking the rugged Jurassic coastline and she’s already fallen in love with the quaintness of village England. The fact that it’s light until nearly 11pm is a bonus. He’s singing in the shower, something from some vintage hits of the 80s CD he’s picked up from the local charity shop. She reaches into the cupboard for the olive oil to make a dressing. That’s when she sees the jars. The ones he must have bought earlier.  
She takes them and places them on the bench. Hellman’s mayonnaise. Branston Sandwich Pickle. Heinz Piccalilli. Haywards Strong pickled onions. Heinz Salad Cream. She turns them all round to read the ingredients and is holding the bottle of Salad Cream when he wanders in wearing just a towel.  
“What are you going to do with that, Scully?”  
“I’m not sure. What the hell is it?”  
“It’s most similar to Miracle Whip, but it’s no contest, really. This,” he says, swiping the bottle from her grasp, “is heaven in a bottle. It’s the elixir of the salad gods, it’s tangy and tasty.” He puts the bottle down and pulls her to him, whispering into her hair and she smells his cologne and instantly throbs with intense pleasure. “Just like you, Scully.”  
She giggles into his mouth. “You’re saying that I taste like a salad dressing. A mayonnaise with vinegar. Am I that sour?”  
“No, no, no Miss Scully, you are not sour. You are sweet and aromatic and you taste like oceans and mountains and cherry blossoms and dreams.”  
His hands are already down her underwear again and she reciprocates, grasping him in her hand and feeling him swell against her skin, pulsing with a welcome heat. She circles his tip with her thumb and he sighs into her.  
“Need to do something about this,” he says in a voice that holds promises to discover.  
“We’re cooking.”  
“If we leave it a while, it’ll be bursting with flavour.”  
“Are you talking about the stew or a you?” But she’s already turning the heat off.  
They’re already in the bedroom and he’s stripped her naked. He pushes her to the bed and spreads her out, stepping back to admire her.  
“I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving before she can protest. She’s too worked up to leave it. She runs a finger along her centre and finds the right spot so that when he returns he just stops in his tracks and watches her for a while. He’s holding a bottle in one hand and his cock in the other. She lets her head fall back and swirls her fingers in the circle of ecstasy. The bed groans as he crawls up to her and she feels a cool splash of liquid on her stomach. She’s so close that she doesn’t open her eyes until Mulder’s tongue swipes along the liquid and she realises what he’s doing. She grabs his hair and pushes him down and his tongue leaves a sticky trail from her belly button to her pubis and over the strip of downy hairs to part her. Her chest rises with each of his master strokes and she pinches a nipple.  
He looks up and smiles, lips wet with her. He dips a finger into the remaining patch on her stomach and tastes it. “Not as good as you.”  
“I can’t believe you poured Salad Cream on me,” she says.  
“It’s wasted on lettuce, Scully.” He gets back to business and her hips rise the bed as she wraps her legs over his shoulders. She comes so hard it takes a full minute to get a grasp on reality. Her skin is on fire, her breath quick and shallow, her nipples hard, her nerves tingling. As she opens her eyes, he’s still on his knees, grinning. His cock is thick and glistening and she licks her lips.  
“My turn for an appetiser, Mulder.”  
He holds up the bottle. “When in Rome…”


	3. Crumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biscuit or cookie?

She’s sitting at the wooden table as the sun lowers itself over the ocean. The cliffs are caught in an orange glow, the wild grasses along the edge fluttering in the breeze. A whirlwind of gnats circle in a funnel above a cascade of bright pansies in one of the pots that line the edges of the lawn. A gull swoops low and caws. She sips her Pimms and leans back in the chair. Peace is something she can never quite come to terms with back home. But here, especially at this time of the evening, it’s everywhere. In the humid air, in the echo of the barn owl, in the distant complaining of sheep, in the mesmeric roll of the waves below, in the vague hum of traffic, in the snap of the shade umbrella in the haphazard breeze. She can understand why Mulder wanted her to visit. It’s been about the memories for him, but for her, it’s been a chance to recharge.  
When Mulder walks through the patio doors she knows he’d been at the nostalgia bar again.  
“This is a Snakebite and black, Scully.”  
“Oh God. Do I really want to know this, Mulder?”  
“It’s equal parts cider and lager, with a shot of blackcurrant cordial. It was big back in the day.”  
She smiles at his smile, his bubbling enthusiasm, the way his eyes sparkle, the way he raises his eyebrows as he drinks. She wishes she could have known him back then. Not quite burned by the mystery of his sister – perhaps spurred on by it; not burned out by the VCS, not burned alive by the conspiracies and the paranoia. Yet to be singed by her presence, her love.  
“I’m surprised you can remember what was big back in the day with the amount of alcohol you must have consumed.”  
He chuckles and sits with her for a while, watching night clouds slink across the sky. “This place is beautiful, isn’t it, Scully?”  
Her eyes drift from the horizon to his face. His mouth is slightly parted. His eyes are half-closed. His chin is tilted up to where the first whispers of stars are winking.  
“Everything is beautiful,” she says, reaching out for his hand and enjoying the rasp of his fingers between hers. “Thank you for bringing me here. You know I thought it was just another excuse for you to look for crop circles or the Loch Ness Monster or to make me eat my body weight in saturated fat every day.”  
His fingers slither up her arm to her elbow and he chuffs out a shallow laugh. “I hold you in higher esteem than any of those things, Scully. You are worthy of so much more. You are the history of the British Museum, the mystery of Stonehenge, the smell of a bluebell wood, the lushness of spring grass, the perfume of a rose garden.”  
She leans in towards him, nuzzling his neck. “I sense a ‘but’ coming, Mulder.”  
He chuckles against her mouth and kisses her thoroughly before taking a sip of his concoction. “Are you up for a taste test?”  
Her mouth is still tingling from his stubble but it’s energised her and she nods. “I have never been able to resist you, Mulder. Whatever the challenge.”  
“This one is sweet, Scully,” he says, holding her chin gently in his fingers and dropping a kiss on her mouth. “Just like you.”  
He returns with a tray filled with small plates. “This is the British biscuit challenge, Scully. I hope you’re ready.”  
She finishes her Pimms and reaches for the water to clear her palate. “As ever, Mulder.”  
He grins, selecting the first offering. “The classic plain sweet biscuit. A Rich Tea. Note the small dot pattern across the surface and the words baked into the surface.”  
“Round biscuit, Rich Tea,” she says holding it up before biting into it. She swallows and smiles. “Quite nice. Nothing flash, but I like its simplicity.”  
He nods. “You want something a bit more complex? This is your guy. A Digestive. Soft but wheaty.”  
She nibbles the edge, her eyes narrowing. Then she takes a good sized bite and offers him the other half. “This is good, Mulder. Want to share?”  
“Don’t let me deprive you of your favourite so far. But you might like the next one even better. Dark chocolate Digestive. Just a thin covering, enough to pique your interest, maybe?”  
She brushes his fingers with hers, deliberately. The chocolate leaves its mark on his fingers and as she eats her biscuit, he licks his fingers clean. This time she eats the whole thing, savouring its sweet and salty combination. He takes her hand and licks her fingers and she slides her chair closer to his. He’s still holding her hand when he slides the next offering to her.  
“Garibaldi. A biscuit with currants squashed between two sheets of dough. Sticky to the touch, soft and melting texture.”  
She bites into the corner and lets the flavour sink in. “I can’t get the chocolate Digestive out of my mind. That will take some beating.”  
His sigh is caught between want and need and she slips her foot between his legs and rubs. Her bare foot and his bare calf. He picks up a biscuit and shows her, twisting it in time to her foot’s movements. “We can now move on to the sandwich-style offerings. I think this is where things might get interesting.”  
“More interesting, Mulder? I’m aflame already.” She takes the biscuit and laughs as she eats it.  
“Bourbon. Chocolate buttercream wedged between chocolate biscuits, sprinkled with sugar. The tip is to prise the biscuits apart and use your teeth to eat the buttercream,” he says, a lazy smile spreading across those beautiful lips, “but clearly you’re more of an ‘if you like it, why not swallow it all in one go kind of woman’, Scully.” He watches her leg slide higher up so that her foot is wedged between his knees. He rubs her toes and she shrinks back a little, letting a fluttery giggle into the humid air. His touch can still elicit all the emotions from her.  
“Lemon Puff,” he says, handing her the next sample. “Twist it and part the two biscuits.”  
“I’ll eat it how I please,” she says, as his fingers move to her ankles, but she does as he suggests and the two sides pull apart with ease.  
“Lick it.” He takes the plain side from her and eats it in one bite.  
She shakes her head and puts her half on the plate in front of her. “Maybe later, Mulder. If you’re a good boy.”  
He gives her the next biscuit. “Custard Cream. A classic. Needs no introduction.”  
She takes a bite and crumbs fall over her lap. Mulder slips off his seat and kneels before her, his hands firm on her thighs, the thin cotton of her dress rising along with her arousal. He licks the skin of her thighs and she runs her hands through his hair. His tongue is strong as it curves from the top of her leg around to the inside where the skin is more sensitive.  
“Mulder, there’s one more biscuit left.” She pulls up his face but his expression is set. He knows what he wants, what she wants.  
“I’m saving the best for last, Scully.”  
He smiles before his head lowers and she gasps when his teeth nip at the edges of her panties and he pulls at them. She obliges and instantly misses his heat at her core when she kicks them off. He nuzzles her, his nose pressing into her soft thigh. She shifts forward allowing him the better angle and the coil of his tongue lights her clit on fire. Her head falls back and she works with his rhythm, enjoying the roughness of his hands under ass, knowing the bruises will inspire a raft of Mulderisms and a smattering of soft kisses from those luscious lips of his.  
But for now, she doesn’t care. She’s breathless with the laving of his tongue, with the circling of his thumb, with the brushing of his teeth over her plumped up flesh. She bucks at the first warning sign, a frisson running the length of her spine. The welling of arousal bubbles and she lets out a moan as he swipes and flattens and follows her curves. When he flickers his tongue over her clit and then presses it flat there, she calls out his name and he slips two fingers inside at a maddeningly slow pace, before withdrawing them. He repeats the move and she urges him on, fingers pulling at his hair. He laughs inside her and his movements send ripples of pleasure out from her stomach over her hips and down her legs. Her toes curl and the fire is stoked, flames cracking out and as he pushes his tongue deep inside her, she explodes. She clenches around his mouth, his chin. His nose is buried but he lets her ride it out and when he lifts his head, finally, the lower half of his face is shining in the half-light.  
“Fuck, Mulder. That was hot.”  
He pulls himself up and looks down at his groin, rubbing at himself. “We agree.” He sips his Snakebite and sits back down. As she adjusts her underwear and outerwear, he reaches for the last biscuit.  
“What is that one called?”  
He grins, holding it up. “A Jammie Dodger.”  
She laughs out loud. “Pretty accurate description of you, I’d say. Cunning. Foxy.”  
He nibbles around the edges and she waits for him to finish. His lips at work are something to behold.  
“I thought the trick was to pull the two sides apart with the sandwich style biscuits, Mulder?”  
He leans across to her, presenting her with the remains. “This one is different.” He lays it in her palm and she smiles. In the centre of her hand is a small red love heart, filled with raspberry jam.  
“You’ll always have my heart, Scully.”


End file.
